April Showers...
by kaydee falls
Summary: Pre-RENTfic. April POV. We know how her story ends, but how did it begin?
1. Changes

DISCLAIMER: not mine. don't sue.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: yup, i'm back to Rent again. my morbid impulses demand an outlet. oh yeah, this is pre-Rent, April POV.  
  
April Showers...  
by kaydee falls  
  
---------------------------------  
I have a twin sister. Betcha didn't know that. My mother had these really cute twinny names picked out for us, I can't remember what they were. Tara and Sara or something dumb like that. But then, I was born at exactly 11:54 PM on April 30, and sis popped out just after midnight. Twins with different birthdays. April and May. How cute.  
  
When we were little, everyone would teach us that rhyme in a sickening sing-song voice. You know, April showers bring May flowers. By the time I was six, I knew enough to be insulted by it. May was always the golden child, the flower child. She had Mom's gorgeous reddish-gold curls, and a pale, ivory face. Me, I got our dad's coloring, dark hair and sallow skin. At least I got curls, too. But whereas May's were always gentle and soft and picture-perfect, mine were genuine springs, and refused to be tamed by brush or gel or even straightening. And while my sister made it her mission in life to be a suck-up to every adult we ever encountered, I have a temper.  
  
My dad called May his Sunshine. I was his Thunderstorm.  
  
I got out of there two days after I graduated from high school, and I never looked back. Just left a little white note on the kitchen table, Too sunny for me. That was always my style. Concise. To the point. No questions asked.  
  
Two weeks later, I found myself in New York City. Three weeks after that, I fell in with the wrong crowd. And exactly six days after that, I met Roger.  
  


* * * * *  


  
As soon as I got to new York, I got a job working in a 24-hour deli. Luckily for me, my shift ended at 5 pm, so I never missed out on a night life. This guy Greg started hitting on me one lunch hour, and when I got off work he took me to his friend's apartment, where a whole gang was gathering to go out. I was welcomed quickly. It's my own fault that I stuck with them, even after they started passing me a joint or two. I had used drugs on and off in high school, and this didn't bother me. Once they got me into the serious stuff, I thought I was happy. I mean, that junk really takes you for a whirl. Pop a needle, and bam, a few of hours of ecstasy. The thrill never wore off, for me. Some of them started needing heavier and heavier doses, or more frequent ones, to get the same high. Not me. Guess I was lucky.  
  
Anyway, Greg got bored with me after a few days. Turns out, he was just looking to make his girlfriend jealous by screwing me. I didn't care much. He meant next to nothing to me. Hey, at least I had a group of friends now. Especially since they were the kind of people the rents would not have approved of. I was in love with my life.  
  
So it was only the sixth evening of this merry-go-round existence that I was seated at some bar or another, waiting for something interesting to happen. I wasn't drunk, and I wasn't high, although most of my party was. But they had each other, and I was waiting for something.  
  
Something found me. She sat down at the bar stool next to mine. she said.  
  
I replied noncommittally.  
  
I'm Maureen, she informed me.  
  
  
  
Maureen eyed me for a few moments. You look lonely,she said suggestively.  
  
I laughed. Sorry, Maureen, but I don't swing that way.  
  
She shrugged, unembarrassed. Don't worry, my boyfriend's in the corner over there. She gestured to a guy with a small, handheld camera. He was panning the bar with it. I sized him up. Not bad. Kinda cute, actually. Don't even think about it, the girl next to me warned. Marky's mine.  
  
So, what, your statement earlier was supposed to be a point of conversation? Look, my chatty friend, whatever you may think, I'm actually in a reasonably good mood right now. I'm not lonely. At all.  
  
Maureen raised an eyebrow. Hey, you're sitting alone at a bar, even through a crowd of your friends are grooving over there. I didn't ask how she knew I was one of their crowd. And here I've got one of my roomies single and bored, and-- she looked around suddenly, then gritted her teeth --and trying to sneak outside! In one fluid motion, she was out of her stool and at the front door, where she accosted a tall young man I hadn't noticed before. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him over to me. No small feat, he was at least six inches taller than her. April, meet Roger.  
  
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not done yet. believe me, i'm not done yet. i just don't have any more time to write tonight. be a nice reader and review, and i'll be a nice author and finish the story. sorry bout the inconvenience.


	2. Moonlight

continuing....  
  
--------------------  
April, meet Roger. Maureen gave him a final shove, then flounced back over to the camera guy.  
  
Roger ducked his head. Uh, hi. I'm sorry about Maureen, she's just a diva...  
  
I shrugged. No, that's all right, really. I was bored. I stood, and offered him my hand. April, if you missed it.  
  
He stared at my hand for a second, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do with it. Then he blushed slightly, and shook it. He still wouldn't meet my eyes. I sighed, but I wasn't about to let an opportunity go to waste. With my best seductive smile, I commented, So, Gorgeous, where you from?  
  
That made him look up. He caught my smile, and after a moment, broke into his own grin. I think that's supposed to be my line, he said.   
  
I won't hold it against you, I replied, getting a good look at him for the first time. He really was good-looking. He had a sort of rocker-artist look to him, which really appealed to me, for some reason. And a fantastic smile. All right, I was attracted to him.  
  
He opened his mouth to say something, but a burst of raucous laughter from my acquaintances cut him off. Hey, April! a guy named Chino called. Get your fine ass over here!  
  
Don't listen to him, honey! a girl, Leila laughed. He's just-- Chino covered her mouth with his hand, and she shrieked good-naturedly.  
  
I glanced back at Roger, and shrugged apologetically. He smiled wryly. Wanna take a walk? he asked quietly.  
  
Sounds good to me. I pulled a few crumpled bills out of my pocket and left them on the bar for my tab, then followed him to the door.  
  
We walked -- I don't know how long we walked. It was one of those beautiful July nights, not too hot, with a clear sky. The streetlamps glowed. Some people are scared of this city at night -- I'd only been here four weeks and already, it was my favorite part of the day.  
  
We didn't talk much. I was never one to talk about my past, and apparently, neither was Roger. I learned that he was a guitarist. He lived in a loft with four roomates -- the loud-mouthed Maureen, her boyfriend (and Roger's best friend) Mark, an anarchist named Collins, and Benny the entrepreneur. All I told him was that I had come to New York to escape my parents, and he just laughed and said yeah, that's what we're all doing.  
  
Somehow, we wound up in Washington Square Park. The large fountain in the middle was still running, and we sat down. The moonlight glittered on the water, enticingly, and I slipped off my sandals and immersed my feet in up to the ankles. I closed my eyes, just enjoying the sensation of the cool water on my tired feet. When I opened my eyes again, I realized that Roger was staring at me.  
  
I asked, a little defensively.  
  
he said quickly, looking away. Then his eyes caught mine, and held them. It's just... your hair in the moonlight, he mumbled apologetically. It looked so...you look beautiful.  
  
A warm blush crept up my cheeks. No one had ever told me I was beautiful before. Never honestly, anyway. But Roger seemed so...earnest. So truthful. He meant it. I smiled, a little self-consciously. I muttered, and looked down.  
  
He misinterpreted my response. Look, I'm sorry, he said hastily, embarrassed. He stood. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just making you uncomfortable. I'm sorry, really, maybe I should--  
  
Without standing, I reached up and caught his arm, gently pulling him back down to my level. Trance-like, he kneeled. Watch out, he's falling for you, a voice in the back of my mind commented wryly.  
  
Or am I falling for him?  
  
No, don't go, I whispered, leaning forward, earnestly. Please. I like being here with you. He nodded slowly.  
  
Only then did I realize how close our faces were. Roger noticed it at the exact same moment, I could tell. There were only two possible choices, at this point. One was to break the moment and pull away.  
  
We mutually decided on the second option, and kissed.  
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any roger/mimi or mark/roger people out there, stop complaining. you know he dated the girl. you can't change the history. aight, i've still got a ways to go, but i'm trying. reviews are manna. no, really, they are!


	3. Noticing

continuing....  
  
------------------------------  
The next day, Greg, Chino, Leila, and Casey were waiting for me after I got off work, as usual. Let's go, girl, Casey called as I emerged from the deli. She pulled her straight blonde hair up into a ponytail as she spoke. That girl was always doing five things at once.  
  
Chino grinned and sidled up to me, snaking an arm around my shoulders. She thought you wouldn't be comin' today, he confided. we got so lonesome after you left with your tall-ass friend last night.  
  
I shook him off. Can it, Chino, I laughed. How long did it take y'all to mark my absence?  
  
Right away, babe, he replied. I was in the middle of talking to you.  
  
Who's that stud you wandered off with, anyway? Casey asked, rummaging through her purse. She emerged with concealer and blush, and began applying them simultaneously. I noticed that she looked paler and more tired than usual. I didn't get a good look at him, he had his back to us mostly and the light stank.  
  
He's -- well, actually, he's coming up the block right now. I fussed with my shirt briefly, straightening some of the creases, and feeling absurdly pleased.  
  
Roger walked up. Hey, April, he said,, sounding more confident than he had last night. I was gonna surprise you after your work -- but I guess they beat me to it.  
  
That's all right, I said, grinning foolishly. I'm still surprised.  
  
Moving closer, he gave me a peck on the lips. I had a good time last night, he murmured. No regrets?  
  
How could I possible have any regrets? I queried teasingly. Except maybe to regret that you walked me to my apartment -- and then went straight home.  
  
Didn't your mama ever tell you never to go to bed on a first date? he asked mischievously.  
  
Yeah, always, I replied. I can't believe I took her advice for once.  
  
Well, don't worry. I don't do one night flings, that's all, he said seriously. But if you don't mind my tagging along tonight...? He straightened, indicating my other friends with his eyes.  
  
Abruptly, I noticed Leila and Casey staring at me, and blushed. I said, flustered. Um, guys, this is Roger. Roger, these are --  
  
Greg looked up for the first time, and presented a small, almost leering smile. Hey, Loverboy, he said to Roger. Haven't seen you in almost a week.  
  
Roger's confidence seemed to evaporate. Hey there, Greg.  
  
You know each other? I asked nervously. Something was odd here.  
  
Are you kidding? Roger forced a grin, and slung an arm across my shoulders reassuringly. Greg here is The Man. He said it as though it were some kind of title.  
  
Don't you fret over my little nickname for Roger, Greg assured me thinly. A handsome prick like that ought to have the ladies all over him, but he's got some kind of confidence problem, so I call him Loverboy to encourage him, he explained, eyes darting between us. Guess I don't need to bother with that anymore. It didn't make me feel much better, but Greg had turned back to Roger. You still owe me a twenty from last week, my friend.  
  
Sure, sure, Roger said brusquely, stepping away from me. He pulled out some bills from the back pocket of his pants. And enough to cover this week, too.  
  
Greg daintily took the money from his hand, and removed a small packet from the inside pocket of his vest. Roger snatched it and stuffed it out of sight. Glancing around, I noticed that the others were taking this all in stride, acting like it was nothing unusual. It wasn't, I realized, as Roger returned to my side, all smiles again.  
  
They all did this, too.  
  
And I had already started.  
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yup, still going. i'm very impressed with myself -- one chapter per night is better than i usually manage. but it ain't over yet, so keep reading. oh, and thanks for the reviews -- they're really encouraging.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i do NOT approve of drugs or drug use of any kind. i'm not trying to excuse the use of heroin in this story -- it's inexcusable. i am merely trying to portray the characters' attitudes towards drugs, not my own. just needed to mention that.


	4. Loft

One month later  
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It was a bright Saturday morning. Too bright, actually. The hot sun seared my face through the blinds. Pressing my face into the pillow, I reached out an arm to the other side of the bed, then sat up in surprise when I realized that Roger wasn't there. Normally he sleeps much later than I do, especially on weekends.  
  
Blinking experimentally, I found some loose denim shorts and a midriff-exposing white T-shirt, and pulled them on. I made my way out of the bedroom to find Mark and Collins sitting at the kitchen table. Mark was munching on a plain bagel, and Collins had dug up a cup of coffee that smelled halfway decent, at least. Roger, Maureen, and Benny were nowhere to be seen.  
  
Getting myself a glass of tap water, I joined the two young men at the table. They grunted greetings, neither really awake enough for talking. It felt very strange. Although it had been more than a week since I moved into the loft, I had never really spent time alone with any of the roommates except for Roger, of course, and occasionally Maureen. These two in particular didn't seem to like me much.  
  
No work today? Mark finally broke the silence.  
  
I shook my head. I don't work weekends, I reminded him. Where's Roger?  
  
He went looking to buy a new guitar, Collins rumbled. Said he'd be back by noon.  
  
I glanced at my watch. 9:27 AM. Great. What about the others?  
  
Benny had some business to attend to, Mark mumbled, suddenly very interested in his half-eaten bagel.  
  
Collins shot a look at the filmmaker, then shook his head. He and Maureen had a spat last night, he informed me quietly. She'll come back eventually. Always does. I nodded agreement. I had known these people for what? Five weeks? Six? Already I knew about the love-hate relationship between Maureen and Mark.  
  
What was the fight about this time? I asked Collins.  
  
Look, can we not talk about this, please? Mark asked plaintively.  
  
Collins opened his mouth to speak, but his wristwatch chirped. He glanced at it, grinning ruefully. AZT time, he commented dryly, and removed himself to the bathroom.  
  
I was confused. This I hadn't noticed before. I turned to Mark. AZT? What's that?  
  
His treatment, Mark responded shortly, pushing up his glasses absentmindedly. He's HIV positive.  
  
Suddenly I felt extremely ignorant. Frankly, I wasn't sure if Mark was still speaking English.  
  
He sighed. HIV is the Human Immunodeficiency Virus. It causes AIDS.  
  
That I had heard of. Collins is gay?  
  
Mark gave me an are-you-some-kind-of-idiot look. As it happens, yes, he said sardonically. But you can get AIDS even if you're hetero, ya know. Where do you come from, anyway?  
  
My empty water glass suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. I felt embarrassed, and a little ashamed. I replied flatly. It was true. Nowhere, USA.  
  
I stood, feeling in my pocket to see if I had any cash. I needed to get out of there before I humiliated myself further with my own ignorance.  
  
Off to The Man for some...whatever it is you're shooting? Mark asked me softly.  
  
None of your business, I snapped. Frankly, I needed that high right now.  
  
He held up his hands in surrender. Your life, he murmured.  
  
Yeah. Roger's, too, I shot back. He blinked, as though suddenly comprehending, and his face flushed slightly.  
  
he whispered. It is.  
  
Even though I realized the source of Mark's hostility toward me, I still hated feeling stupid. As I walked out, I decided that I would go to the library sometime in the near future and do a little research on AIDS.  
  
I never did.  
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i took a nice break from writing this weekend, but i'm back now. please keep reading & reviewing, i really appreciate it. i don't know how many chapters there are left...but i must've hit the halfway point....i hope....


	5. Morning

Almost 8 months later  
Early April  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
  
I glanced up at Casey. Her hands, for once, were not moving. Instead, they were resting comfortably on her hips, as she glared into her open purse.  
  
What happened? I asked.  
  
She looked up at me mournfully. I'm clean out of smack, and I've got a long day ahead of me.  
  
I feel your pain, I clucked sympathetically, than reached into my sleeve and pulled out a small pack.   
  
She practically snatched it out of mid-air. Thanks, April, you're a life-saver, she said breathlessly, then headed for the bathroom in search of a needle, bumping into Leila, who was on her way out.  
  
Leila glanced back at the blonde curiously. What was that all about? she queried.  
  
Missed her horse appointment, I laughed.  
  
Leila shook her head. I can't believe The Man is raising the price, she commented. I trusted Greg.  
  
What can you do? I shrugged. Anyway, we're gonna be late for work if she doesn't haul her ass out of there.  
  
Casey and I had spent the night at Leila's. Some professor or engineer person from some college had wanted to interview Collins for a major teaching position, so he had politely kicked us all out for the night. I figured it was a good opportunity for a girls' night out. At any rate, it was almost 8 AM. I had to get to the deli, and Leila and Casey worked at a restaurant/cafe place a few blocks away. I was the lucky one: I got to stay behind a counter. They had to balance trays.  
  
Casey finally emerged, smoothing the creases out of her white turtleneck. So, April, you coming with us again tonight? she asked lightly. She was already in a better mood.  
  
I smiled. No, Benny's dragging a few of us to some new club. Says the dancers there are outrageous. I gotta keep an eye on my Roger.  
  
Leila said suddenly. Casey, what'd you do to your neck?  
  
Casey's brow knitted, and she raised a white hand to the side of her neck. Sure enough, I saw a medium sized purple mark there, like a bruise. That looks nasty, I commented, concerned. Casey, are you seeing somebody who--  
  
she said, confused. I'm not with a guy right now. I didn't get into a fight with anyone. It don't feel like a bruise, she added, probing it with her index finger experimentally. It's weird, though. Sort of upraised. Like, I can feel the outline of it.  
  
Do you have any others? Leila asked, not too worried.  
  
Casey pursed her lips. I gotta bruise on my lower right leg, she said finally. Thought I bumped into something. She rolled up the leg of her black jeans, and sure enough, there was another one there.  
  
You should get those checked out, Leila advised. Just in case. How've you been feeling lately?  
  
Not so hot, Casey admitted. I think I got that bug going around.  
  
Me too, I added, last week. It doesn't last too long, though.  
  
Casey sighed, and smoothed her jeans back into place. I don't want to go to a doctor, she informed Leila. They take one look at me, they don't want me near them. Call me a junkie. Sides, I can't afford it.  
  
Leila raised her eyebrows. Then I'll drag you there, she said stonily. Can't hurt to be careful.  
  
This from the heroin chick? I laughed.  
  
She shrugged ruefully. Too late to change that, huh? Don't mean I wanna die any time soon.  
  
Nobody does, I replied softly. Shaking my head, I grabbed my handbag. We're gonna be late. I sprinted out the door. Talk to you later! I called back over my shoulder. The other packet up my sleeve smacked my arm lightly, rhythmically, as I jogged down the street.  
  
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still plodding along. count on...um...three more chapters. that should do it. but keep reviewing anyway? please? thank you?


	6. Dance

That evening  
  
------------------------------  
Roger slung his arm around me as we walked quickly to keep pace with Benny. He was chattering a mile a minute to Mark about this one particular dancer. Mark ignored Benny and played with Maureen's hand. Collins had declined to come.  
  
Hey, Benny, I finally called to him. You wanna slow down a bit? This is ridiculous.  
  
Roger piped up. And I thought you were seeing that Alison chick, anyway.  
  
Well, I am, Benny hedged. Maybe not totally exclusively yet. Besides, I'm not doing anything with this dancer, I don't even know her name. I just, uh, like watching her.  
  
He stopped walking abruptly. Mark practically ran over him before realizing that the African-American man had stopped short.  
  
What now? Maureen asked.  
  
We're here, Benny replied excitedly, and stepped into the building. I peered up at the sign over the door. Cat Scratch Club. Never noticed it before.  
  
Inside, the lighting wasn't so hot. The air was filled with cigarette smoke...and a few other smokes besides. Mark wrinkled his nose, but for once refrained from commenting.  
  
I shrugged, and led the way to a small dance floor in the back. None of the dancers were performing yet, and a mingled crowd of twenty-somethings were grinding and gyrating, depending on how high they were. Smiling slightly, I threw myself into the crowd, bopping to the pulse of some unidentifiable music. Maureen joined me immediately, although she was a bit wilder than I. She quickly grabbed a random guy and pressed close to him. Mark didn't look too happy with this, but he was awkward in this environment, and didn't say anything.  
  
Roger watched me for a few moments, then hesitantly took my hand and began dancing with me. I was surprised. He was a reasonably good dancer.  
  
Where'd you learn to dance? I queried.  
  
He grinned wryly. My mom forced me to take ballroom dancing when I was thirteen, he murmured. Never forgave her for that -- but every now and then, it comes in handy. I giggled.  
  
I heard loud whistles and catcalls from elsewhere in the club. Hey, guys! Benny called to Roger and Mark. They're here!  
  
A trio of young women made their way out. I couldn't really see them, but I could figure out what they were wearing. Not much.  
  
Most of the other girls in the club were making their way to the opposite side, where a trio of male dancers were emerging. I glanced over at the female dancers again. One of them, Benny's favorite, was doing an elaborate dance that involved a lawn chair and handcuffs. Benny grinned, pointing to her.  
  
Best ass below 14th street, he stage whispered. And that includes Alison.  
  
Roger gave her an appraising look. I slapped his arm lightly, and he turned back to me, eyes wide. he asked innocently.  
  
Time to go, I replied, smiling.  
  
He shrugged. Just as well, this isn't exactly my kind of club. Besides, he lowered his voice, it's about time for another fix. I agreed, and we pushed our way to the door.  
  
Outside, Mark was leaning against the building distractedly.  
  
Roger said curiously. I didn't see you leave.  
  
He shrugged listlessly, still staring straight ahead. You're not the only one, he answered in a monotone.  
  
So come on home, Roger urged, but his attention span was wavering. Mark noticed it too, and scowled.  
  
he muttered, after glancing at Roger. You two have fun.  
  
I bit my lip. Things had never really improved between me and the filmmaker. Quietly, I led Roger away down the block. He didn't look back, and Mark didn't watch us go.  
  
Back in the loft, Roger headed to the bathroom to find his stash. I took off my jacket and tossed it lightly over the couch, then began to slowly unbutton my shirt. The phone rang. With an exasperated sigh, I picked it up.  
  
  
  
It was Leila's voice.  
  
Yeah, it's me. What's up?  
  
Casey went to the doctor, like I told her to, Leila told me shakily. I realized that the whole incident had happened only this morning.  
  
That was quick. Anything wrong with her? I asked impatiently. Roger had emerged from the bathroom, and I ached to join him on the bed.  
  
Leila's voice caught. She inhaled slowly, then exhaled. They took one look at her and told her she had Kaposi's sarcoma.  
  
I raised an eyebrow. In plain English?  
  
Leila blurted out. It's one of the key signs of AIDS. She's been HIV positive for a while now, they said, only she never knew. Now she's got AIDS. Shit, April, her voice rose, we've all got to get tested!  
  
Calm down, I said, although my heart was racing. Look, we haven't been sleeping with her, right? And I don't recall ever fucking any of her ex-boyfriends. So we're fine.  
  
How naive are you, April? she whispered. Needles. We've been sharing needles. You can get it through needles.  
  
Time stopped. You sure? I asked. My voice was dead.  
  
Pretty sure, yeah, she replied softly.  
  
But wouldn't we know? I asked, not quite desperately. Wouldn't it show?  
  
Not for years, sometimes, Leila responded faintly. That's what happened to Casey. It was a couple of years ago, and she just found out now.  
  
I bit my lip. I said. Okay. I guess we'd better get tested, then. I hung the phone up gently, and stared at it for a few long moments.   
  
Roger poked his head out of the bedroom. What's wrong? he asked. You coming?  
  
I said. Just gimme a few seconds. He nodded, and retreated.  
  
I closed my eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Good girl. Then I finished unbuttoning my blouse, and joined him in the bedroom.  
  
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only two left to go....whew! reviews are always, always welcomed.


	7. Reality

A few weeks later  
April 29  
  
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I was alone in the loft, drifting around it like some kind of spirit. I didn't know what to do. The nurse at the neighborhood clinic had been moderately friendly when Leila and I went for testing two weeks ago. She scowled at the tracks on our arms, but conceded that at least we were intelligent enough to be tested. I told her that she ought to be thankful, it was so easy to find a vein from which to draw blood. After it was all done, she told us to call back in a week, and find out if our results were back from the lab.  
  
Leila did call, three days ago. They told her to come in, and some doctor informed her that she had turned up negative. She was so ecstatic, she hugged him, and proceeded to ignore his advice to quit drugs. On the phone with me that night, she never shut up about how happy and relieved she was, and that I should get my results back, too.  
  
But I was too scared to pick up the phone and call the clinic.  
  
So here I was, alone at 5:30 PM on a Thursday afternoon, wandering around the apartment, unable to sit still. My hands were a little shaky, but not too bad. I could hold out until Roger got home before shooting up, anyway. I hated getting high alone.  
  
I hated keeping Casey's condition a secret from our party group. Including Roger. Casey wouldn't let us, and I was afraid of causing some sort of mass panic. Frankly, I just didn't know what to do. When you got right down to it, I was just tired. Bone-tired. I didn't want this.  
  
I didn't want to know my results.  
  
My birthday's tomorrow, I suddenly realized. I'm gonna be nineteen. Just nineteen. But old for my age. Just born to be bad. Still pacing through the living room, I wondered if anyone else ever felt this way, or if I was completely alone.  
  
Not quite alone, I thought wryly, as the front door opened, and Mark stepped through.  
  
My face fell as he entered. No way around it, he and I just don't get along.  
  
He frowned slightly when I resumed pacing. What are you doing? he asked.  
  
What does it look like? I responded testily. Just go away, Mark, I thought at him.  
  
Telepathy doesn't really exist, after all. He plopped down on the couch. You're making me dizzy, he said matter-of-factly. Just sit down, for God's sake.  
  
If you don't like it, you can leave, I informed him, a little nastily. I was not in the mood to play nice with Mark. It's not like he ever makes the effort to be civil in return.  
  
Coolly, he pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. I lived here first, he reminded me.  
  
I threw up my hands. I spat. My irritation was escalating unreasonably. I wanted to slap that smug look off the filmmaker's face. Glancing at my hands, I saw that they were shaking even worse than before. I turned to the bathroom, where the needle gleamed enticingly in my mind's eye. Just one shot, just to calm me down, so I don't fly off the handle, I thought.  
  
But Mark was suddenly standing directly behind me, arms folded. Need a fix? he asked, almost tauntingly. The small rational part of my mind wondered what had happened with Maureen today, to make him so eager to exact some petty revenge on me, instead. You're sweating, he added. I didn't know I made you so nervous.  
  
I fought to restrain myself from strangling him. No, I don't need a fix, I gasped out. I just want one. Deal with it.  
  
In the next instant, his hands were gripping my shoulders, and he was shaking me. I should have been able to shake him off -- I was his height, and just as strong -- but I was too surprised to react. Look at yourself! he practically shouted. You and Roger are turning into ghosts! Drugs, drugs, drugs, that's all you care about! Your stupid heroin! He released me, but didn't relax his intensity. You are killing yourself, he hissed. Ever taken a look in a mirror lately? You look like crap. You had already started using when I met you back last July, but believe me, you didn't look it. You were young, pretty, independent. So was your boyfriend. And now you are slaves to your precious smack. He took a step back, breathing heavily. You don't even care about living anymore, he said quietly, bitterly. And Roger's a fucking shadow.  
  
I closed my eyes tightly, trying to block him out, searching frantically through my addled brain for something to throw back at him. I found a wisp, and snatched it. My eyes flew open again.  
  
You blame me, I growled. Ever since I showed up, you've used me as your fucking scapegoat. You've blamed me for Roger's drug use. You blame me cause he's turned into a junkie. Well, why not? I'm just another damn junkie too, right? It makes sense, right? I threw words around wildly, advancing on him slowly. You love hiding from the truth, don't you Marky? You know that Roger had been using long before I ever came into the picture. You recognized the signs immediately. But you pretended it wasn't happening. That everything was just swell. Lucky I showed up just as his signs were becoming evident to others, you could dump it all on me. I lowered my voice tauntingly. That new girlfriend of Roger's, she's bad news. She's a bad influence. She's convincing him to get high with her.' You son of a bitch. I stopped, nose inches from his. He still met my eyes defiantly. You noticed from the very moment he started, I whispered. That's what you do, observe. Especially your best friend. And if you honestly thought it started with me, then what kind of lousy excuse for a best friend are you?  
  
Finally, finally, I had struck a chord with him. He drew back, eyes filled with hurt. But he had struck home in me, too. He was right. His words echoed in my head, ringing with truth. What was I doing to myself? And Roger, the one man I had ever thought I cared about -- he was just as much of an empty shell as I was, and I was only furthering his destruction.  
  
Losing the rush of my anger, my energy level crashed. I crumpled to the floor, crying.  
  
To my surprise, Mark rushed over to me. April, please, oh my God, April, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, he babbled, putting his arms around me and holding me tightly. Shhhh, it's all right, it's my fault, I'm sorry. Please, just calm down, don't let Roger see you like this, he'll kill me. I buried my face into his sweater, dampening it with my tears. Slowly, I pulled myself together, and stopped sobbing. Mark kept holding me, murmuring apologies, as I gradually calmed.  
  
Finally, I was done. Mark gently helped me to my feet, still gripping me tightly. His eyes met mine, worried and a little frightened. I managed a small, watery smile. Thank you, I whispered, for telling me the truth.  
  
He blushed slightly. Yeah, you too, he muttered. He didn't release me.  
  
I knew what I had to do now. Gently, I loosened myself out of his grip. Excuse me, I said. I have to make a call. He let me go, dropping his arms to his sides, watching me. Abruptly, I turned back and asked, Can you get AIDS from a kiss?  
  
He shook his head no, a little confused at the question. I smiled, leaned toward him, and kissed him softly on the mouth. He made no move to resist, leaning into it himself. After a few moments, I broke it off. Thank you, I whispered again. His eyes followed me, a little dazed, as I walked over to the phone and dialed the clinic.  
  
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just....one...more.... thanks for sticking with it! keep reviewing, please, pretty pretty please with a raspberry on top? (i don't like cherries)


	8. ...Bring May Flowers

April 30  
  
-----------------------------  
  
The video camera in my mind's eye pans around the scene I've set (guess I picked up a habit or two from Mark): the door, closed, with a little yellow post-it stuck to the outside. Zoom in on post-it note: Roger -- We've got AIDS. I'm sorry. -- April. Focus on me, hugging my legs to my chest in the empty bathtub, clutching a razor loosely in one hand. Rolling up my sleeves. Removing my wristwatch. As I lean over to place it precariously on the sink's edge, I happen to notice the time.  
  
11:59 PM.  
  
Has it only been six hours?  
  


* * * * *  
  


Six hours earlier  
  
I sat in the waiting room of the clinic, fidgeting. Every now and then I would pick up a magazine and flip through it, but after a few pages I would just put it back down and forget everything I had just read.  
  
Finally, a secretary came out, glancing at a clipboard. April Weir? he read.  
  
I stood. I'm April, I said, swallowing hard. Calm down, girl.  
  
He gave me an appraising look, and shook his head slightly. The counselor will see you now, he informed me coolly, guiding me through a door.  
  
The counselor's office was small and neat. Pamphlets were stacked in organized piles along the walls, brightly colored lettering informing me about various acronyms like HIV and STDs. The chairs were comfy-looking, if faded. Posters promoting safety and awareness plastered the walls. If I ignored the words, I could almost convince myself that I was back in my third grade classroom. Our fluorescent lights weren't quite so harsh as these, though.  
  
The counselor came in. She was a small, bird-like woman with graying hair and bright eyes. She, too, carried a clipboard. I wondered if they were part of the uniform for people at clinics.  
  
She offered me the hand not supporting the clipboard, and I shook it. My name is Ruth Shaevitz, she told me, a little distantly. April Weir?  
  
I replied quietly.  
  
IV drug user? she asked sternly, glancing between he clipboard and the faint tracks on my arms.  
  
I lied.  
  
She gave me a disparaging look. she murmured. Well, April, please sit down. I sat. She modified the harshness of her voice, slightly. Your lab test results are right here, she said, regarding them. Her eyes darted up to meet mine, and her expression softened a little more. You are HIV positive, she informed me, almost gently.  
  
The numbness started then. It began in the pit of my stomach, and slowly expanded to fill my entire body. I have AIDS, I said shortly.  
  
Well, not yet, she hedged. But yes, you will develop it sooner or later. Right now, you're only HIV positive. You're in the asymptomatic stage -- you should feel fine, normal. This period could last for months or years.  
  
I have AIDS, I repeated.  
  
She continued on as though I hadn't spoken. Given your, ah, history as a drug user, I would have to predict that your asymptomatic stage would end sooner rather than later. She went on, but I didn't hear her. Her voice faded into the background. The numbness had reached my brain, and I stepped out of my body and watched myself, dispassionately. I have AIDS. Like repeating it to myself would make me understand, make it seem real. Or make it go away.  
  
I realized that Ruth had asked me a question.   
  
She sighed. I asked, have you shared injectibles with anyone recently?  
  
I replied. Yes. With Casey and Leila. I got it from Casey, I think. Leila turned up negative. My voice sounded so coldly logical. No emotion. Odd.  
  
What about a boyfriend?  
  
I haven't shared needles with him in a few weeks. We each have our own, works better that way, simultaneous highs and all, I said.  
  
Ruth pursed her lips. What about other...sharing of fluids? I gave her a questioning look. She rolled her eyes. Have you had intercourse with him? she finally asked directly.  
  
I blushed. Oh. Yes. Yes.  
  
I think he had better come for testing, too, she said shortly.  
  
The numbness abruptly fizzled away, and I wished it hadn't. What are you gonna tell Roger? pounded in my brain. How do you tell the person you love that he is going to die because of you?  
  
How am I gonna tell him?  
  
Somehow I found myself outside, on the street, walking. I glanced at my watch. 6:47. I was supposed to meet Roger and the others at some bar at 7:30.  
  
I can't tell him. I can't do it. I don't want to see him hate me. I love him.  
  
Finding some loose change in my pocket, I headed to the nearest pay phone and dial the loft. After three rings, Mark picked up.  
  
CyberArts Studio, how can I help you? he said cheerfully. I could tell he'd just been talking to Benny. The Studio didn't exist yet.  
  
Mark, it's April.  
  
Hey, hold on, I'll get Roger--  
  
I said quickly. It's all right. I just -- something came up, and I can't meet you guys tonight, I hedged.  
  
A pause. April, what's wrong? Mark asked, concerned. Mark's actions towards me had changed so drastically in one day. I hadn't had a chance to get used to the new, kind Marky.  
  
It suddenly occurred to me that I wouldn't get that chance. And once I realized that, it became startlingly clear what I was going to do. The frightening thing was, once I figured it out, I felt nothing but relief.  
  
Nothing's wrong, I told him lightly. I'll probably be back before you are, so I'll see you later tonight or tomorrow morning. White lie.  
  
All right, Mark said dubiously. See you.  
  
Tell Roger I love him, I said, at the spur of the moment.  
  
He knows, Mark replied softly. Take care of yourself, April.  
  
I hung up. I would take care of myself, believe me, I would. Just not in the way that he intended.  
  
I leaned heavily against the phone booth, allowing one solitary tear to escape and roll down my cheek. Today is my nineteenth birthday, I think. Only nobody knows it but me. How can I be only nineteen?  
  
Why me?  
  
I spend the next few hours wandering around the Village. I have no sense of time or place; I just drift, trying to take in as much as possible and yet unconsciously tuning it all out.  
  
The numbness returns as I walk. Horns beeping, tires screeching, people talking -- nothing registers. It's like walking through a fog of white noise.  
  
At one point, I stop in a card shop and buy a blank card, with a cutesy picture of flowers and sunshine on the front. Inside, I scrawl, Lucky for you, it turns out the good don't die young, after all. Just the naughty. Enjoy your birthday, twin. This one's my last. With a pang of remorse, I add the loft's phone number at the bottom, along with an instruction to only talk to Mark Cohen. Then I address it to my old home -- couldn't remember where May was in college -- find a stamp, and drop it in a mailbox.  
  
The moon is already high in the sky when I return to the loft. The others are still out. Quietly, efficiently, I set the scene. Finding a razor in the bathroom cabinet, my eye passes over the container in which I keep my needles. Briefly, I wonder why I hadn't felt the need for a fix all evening, then dismiss it as irrelevant. The numbness definitely controls my brain now.  
  
On a bright yellow post-it note, I write, Roger -- We've got AIDS. I'm sorry, and sign it. Concise, to the point -- always my style. Then I stick it to the outside of the bathroom door, and close the door behind me. I step into the bathtub -- I want the mess to be easy for them all to clean up. Rolling up my sleeves, I realize that I had better remove my wristwatch. Placing it on the sink, I notice the time.  
  
11:59 PM.  
  
I don't know why this catches and holds me, but it does. I sit there, staring at the watch, as my mind travels backwards through time. The clinic. Yesterday afternoon, screaming at Mark, kissing him. Learning that Casey had AIDS. The Cat Scratch Club. Purple mark on Casey's neck. Months of drug-addled bliss with Roger. Feeling ignorant about Collins' gay disease. Sleeping with Roger for the first time. Roger and The Man interacting. Meeting Maureen, Roger, Mark.  
  
Falling in with the wrong crowd.  
  
Moving to New York City.  
  
Leaving home to escape my perfect sister.  
  
And me, my Daddy's Thunderstorm,' sitting on his knee, Sunshine' on his other, as he recited in a sing-song voice: April showers bring May flowers...  
  
The time clicks to 12:00 AM. Midnight. Tomorrow. May.  
  
My time is up. April's showers are fading with the new month. If I'm a dark blot in Roger's life, it doesn't matter. I did love him, even though I can only hurt him. Thunderstorms are like that: fierce. But the shower does pass. The rain stops.  
  
I flick the razor across my left wrist, then quickly switch and flick it across my right. Concise. To the point. Roger, I'm so sorry.  
  
I wonder who his May flower will be.  
  
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I FINALLY FINISHED! ok, the feedback really counts now. please, if you've stuck with me for this long, the least you can do is review! i've been writing this for almost 2 weeks, just spend 2 minutes to write a nice little review! please? and to those of you who have been giving me feedback throughout -- THANK YOU!  
  
kaydee falls


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